Chapter Text
Aspen knocks on the Fisher’s front door with a coffee cup holder in her hand and a small box of pastries perched on top. She considers it a peace offering; no one can be upset at an unexpected arrival when a free cup of coffee is involved. A moment goes by with no answer so she raises her fist to bang again when the door whips open. The sight in front of her forces the air from her chest.
Conrad, shirtless, his jeans set low on his hips. They are held up by a simple brown belt. He has on a pair of old, tattered work boots and streaks of dirt are peppered on the side of his arms and stomach. God. His stomach, gleaming with a layer of sweat, muscles rippling up the side of his chest. Aspen’s mouth goes dry.
“Hey, was I expecting you?,” he asks. Aspen clears her throat, painfully aware of the tan body before her.
“Why didn’t you respond to my text?”
“What text?”
“I followed you on Instagram, you didn’t follow me back,” she breathes, “And then you didn’t answer my text.” Conrad stares at Aspen as if she is a thing from a different planet. Regardless, her attitude, the way the words spill from her lips so perfectly entices him in ways he can’t begin to describe.
“I don’t have Instagram,” he says. Aspen furrows her brow and pushes past him into the house as if it is her own. Her feet find their way to the kitchen where she sets the two coffees down on the island and starts rifling through the cabinets looking for a serving platter. Conrad stares at the frenzy in front of him.
“You do have Instagram, I followed it last night. Where are your plates?” she asks. Conrad walks to the dining table and grabs the empty, ceramic cake plate and hands it to her. She grabs it from his hands and begins to move the pastries from the box onto the platter.
“I’m sorry, what are you doing here?” he asks.
“I brought you coffee,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone, gesturing to the cup labeled “C”. Conrad’s lips part slightly. He grabs the cup, peeling off the lid to stare at the steaming hot black cup of coffee before him.
“I thought hot coffee was for psychopaths,” he says.
“It is.” Conrad huffs but takes the cup regardless. The liquid is smooth and burning hot, just how he likes it. Jeremiah always teases Conrad when he brings a hot cup of coffee to the beach in the middle of the summer. Summer or not, nothing compares to the hot, dark concoction.
“Ok, but remind me, why are you here?” he mumbles through a mouthful. Aspen finishes off the platter with a petite old fashioned donut right on top. She fishes her phone out of her pocket to take a picture, dutifully admiring her work.
“You didn’t follow me back on Instagram, then you didn’t answer my texts.”
“Well again, I don’t have Instagram.” Aspen rolls her eyes and quickly navigates to the purple and orange ombré app and pulls up Conrad’s lackluster profile. She shoves the phone in his face. He takes it gingerly from her hands, eyes squinting at the bright screen.
“Oh yeah...” his voice trails off. Aspen cocks her head and waits for him to finish his sentence.
“Oh yeah what?” she asks.
“Belly made it for me so she could tag me in posts or something. I logged in once, but haven't touched it since.” Belly, of course. Aspen resists the urge to roll her eyes but deep inside her a tiny pit of dread deepens at the mention of her name. Something must’ve happened between them, she can practically picture it. Whatever it was, however, is in the past, this is now. So, Aspen sticks out her hand, curling her fingers towards her as she beckons for Conrad’s phone. He eyes her palm, her wrist decorated with gold bracelet upon gold bracelet; some are just simple bangles while others are ornamented with diamonds and multicolored jewels. Delicately, he places his phone in her hand with the screen unlocked.
“Where are these donuts from?” he asks as she begins to flip through the home screen.
“Dana’s,” she says flatly.
“Dana’s? Where is that?”
“Conrad, are you serious? It’s tucked away in the alley near Bucky’s, the coffee shop that makes the coffee you’re currently holding. Dana’s is borderline famous,” she huffs and opens Instagram. Conrad grabs the old fashioned donut on top and takes a bite, nodding his head in approval.
“Ah yes, because I too trust an alleyway donut shop,” he mumbles through a mouthful of cake. Reluctantly, he nods at the perfectly fried dough gracing his tastebuds.
“Old fashioned, seriously? I only got that because they ran out of Boston Kreme.” She opens his follow requests with over 250 accounts waiting in Instagram purgatory. A mixture of a gasp and laughter escapes her.
“Anything besides old fashioned is too sweet for me. Besides, it’s timeless” he retorts.
“Speaking of timeless, Conrad, you have hundreds of people requesting to follow you. Do you even know that many people?” He takes another bite.
“Aren’t you like…famous?” he chides. Aspen rolls her eyes and presses accept on her request.
“That’s not the point.” He shrugs.
“Ok, well, anything else? Or did you just come here to get me to follow you on Instagram?” he asks. Aspen swallows hard. Truthfully, she did only come here to confront him, to see him once more after last night. She planned to keep an edge to her tone, to keep her eyes narrowed, but looking at him now she felt all of that animosity melt.
“You didn’t answer my text either,” she chides.
“Fiesty today, aren’t we?” The hair on her arms stands straight up as he holds her gaze, his emerald eyes flash with anticipatory delight as Aspen’s words fall short. She’s never met a man that’s so hot and cold and she wants nothing more than to wipe that smug look off of his face. Yesterday, he was all soft, letting the warm sun melt that hard exterior to reveal a version of himself that seemed somewhat interested in the girl in front of him. Today, he is back to typical, stone-faced Conrad.
“Why do you look like a coastal version of Old Mcdonald?” she asks, gesturing to Conrad’s dirty jeans and shirtless body. Her mouth waters. She takes a sip of her own coffee. Conrad continues his stare and then turns on his heel and walks outside to the backyard. Aspen throws her hands out to her sides, gritting her teeth as his tanned, toned back leaves her view. Reluctantly, she follows him, sending a stream of colorful curses through her mind.
Aspen finds Conrad kneeling on the soft, green grass before two raised garden beds. One of them is alive with potatoes, cucumbers, fresh basil and peppers. Their stems shoot towards the sun, soaking up each warm ray. Yellow, red, and orange peppers dangle against the rich soil, their smooth, glistening exterior is fresh and ripe. Aspen hovers behind Conrad and gently bends over to pluck off a basil leaf. She presses it to her nose and inhales sharply, its potent scent filling her nostrils.
Yet, despite the one bed alive with fresh vegetables, its neighbor is the exact opposite. The garden bed on the right harbors dull soil, almost grey. The plants within them look even more melancholy. Their stems are fried from the sun and droop against the soil. The roots have come up to the surface, unable to sustain life in the dirt.
“Is this your garden?” Aspen asks.
“It was my mom’s. I started taking care of it after she died.” Aspen kneels before the desolate garden bed and sticks her hands in the soil. The dry dirt crumbles between her fingers. She rifles through the dead stems and finds three plant tags: strawberry, fennel, and mint.
“Well, you’re not doing a very good job,” she says curtly.
“Thanks, I just realized that,” he scoffs, running his hands through his chestnut hair. Aspen pulls the plant tags from the dirt and shoves them into his chest. Her fingers tremble against his sweaty skin.
“Strawberries, mint and fennel can’t be planted together. Their root systems compete for resources, that’s why they’re dying,” she says. He stares at her; that stare. The stare he gives her when he can’t decide if she’s the most gorgeous, wonderful, or terrifying person he has ever met. Beneath his bare chest, his heart thunders wildly. He can’t help but wonder if she came from another planet, and even then, no celestial laws could explain the effect those deep honey brown eyes have on him.
“H-how did you know that?” he stutters, “I’ve been trying to figure out why those plants won’t grow for weeks.” Aspen purses her lips and turns back to the garden bed. She begins to pull the dead roots out of the soil, discarding them near Conrad’s knees.
“Jack of all trades,” she says.
“Master of none,” Conrad retorts.
“What?”
“Jack of all trades, master of none. It’s a saying.”
Aspen scoffs, “Please, I am a master of everything. You haven’t seen anything yet.” A shudder rattles down Conrad’s spine, sending goosebumps up his arms. The look in her eyes is icy and pretentious as if she is begging for him to come and figure out just exactly what she is a master at. Conrad clears his throat and turns back to the prosperous garden bed in front of him, suddenly very interested in the peppers.
A warm breeze rumbles through the yard, weaving between the flowers planted along the house. Aspen pulls her hair back from her face into what could be considered a ponytail and secures it with the hair tie on her wrist. She pulls the two front strands of her hair out so that they float against her face; slut strands, that’s what skiers call them. A lot of women will pull some hair out of their helmet so that everyone knows it’s a girl shredding past them on the mountain. Aspen doesn’t care one way or another, but she likes to divulge in the latest trend.
“Well, there’s a Lowe’s just outside Cousins, we can go get some new seeds for you,” Aspen says as she rises to her feet.
“We?” Conrad questions.
“You sure as shit don’t know what you’re doing,” Aspen retorts, pulling her keys from her pocket and waving them in Conrad’s face, “I’ll drive.”
“I’m gonna go..” his words trail off as he gestures to his bare torso. Aspen nods in agreement.
“Being half-naked in Lowe’s might be discouraged, no matter how good you look.” Conrad’s mouth parts slightly, his eyes flashing with anticipation. He resists the urge to play her game but can’t help the hot flush the spreads across his cheeks. But Aspen is already moving towards the front yard, unaware of the tempting look on Conrad’s face.
—
Conrad knew to expect grandness whenever it came to Aspen, but the car parked in his driveway is beyond grand, beyond wealthy and luxury. A BMW 7 series, all black with black rims and slightly tinted windows, just within the legal range, hummed to life as Aspen pressed the remote control key.
“Is this your first car?” Conrad breathes, opening the passenger door. The interior is covered in velvety, red leather. The steering wheel, in true Aspen fashion, hones a bedazzled cover, matching the rhinestone coaster in her cupholders.
“No, I had a little Toyota before this car. I actually preferred it, but once I started driving to school, my dad wanted something a little bit more reliable,” she says, positioning her in the driver's seat. With the way her body is angled against the seat, low back tilted upwards so that she just barely peers over the wheel, it looks like she is preparing to drive a racecar. She might as well be, the engine in the BMW lets out a progressive, bone-rattling hum until Aspen shifts it into gear.
“And school is in…” he asks, waiting for her to finish.
“Vermont.”
“The Green Mountain State,” he says proudly, “I have a couple of Vermont stamps, special editions.”
“Stamps? As in envelope stamps?”
“Yeah, I used to collect them.” Aspen erupts into a fit of laughter, slamming into the brakes as she does.
“Shit, I’m sorry I just,” choked noises escape her. She comes to a stop at a red light, taking in a deep breath before she looks at him once more, “You look like you collected stamps.”
“Ouch,” Conrad says, grabbing his chest with a pretend pained look on his face, “You didn’t have an embarrassing childhood hobby?” he asks.
The light turns green and Aspen slowly eases on the gas, all signs of joy now washed from her face, replaced with a grim expression. She pulls her bottom lip behind her teeth and chews on its soft flesh. No, she didn’t have an embarrassing childhood hobby. There wasn’t any time for a childhood hobby, between burying her dead sister and spending every winters day with a ski instructor, there wasn’t much of anything for young Aspen. But when she had the time in between lessons, she would hobble up to the cafe inside the lodge, her ski boots banging beneath her, and grab a bowl of soup and a hot chocolate and sit in the corner of the wooden dining room, watching as specks of blue, purple, black, and green flew down the white slope.
There was a different special soup each day, but her favorite was the classic chicken noodle with extra saltine crackers. The chef, a lovely old woman named Tricia, would watch Aspen walk in and already have a bowl and tray prepared for her. At the end of the day, when the cafe began to close, Tricia would give Aspen whatever was leftover. She knew the child was wealthy and always had food on the table, but the mere loneliness of the child felt like an arrow being stabbed straight through her heart. So, she let Aspen sit in the back, where the workers would take their breaks, and watch as she ate her soup while Tricia cleaned the kitchen. Aspen never forgot about Tricia, even the family had moved from Colorado to Connecticut.
Conrad notices the morose look on Aspen’s face and decides to halt the conversation. He turns to look out the lightly tinted window, watching as the main street of Cousins passes by. Shops, bakeries, cafes, restaurants. He wonders which are Aspen’s favorite, her typical haunts. He makes a mental note to one day take her out, but he wants to decide where they go, if the control freak inside her lets him.
They pull into the Lowe’s lot and Aspen parks off to the side of the building, right near the sign that says ‘Garden Center’. The humid air smacks into her as she steps out of the car, clearing off any remnants of the cool A/C hovering inside the BMW.
“Let’s go shopping,” Aspen says cheerfully, striding towards an arrangement of plants.